Sink or Swim
by Biggles Mad
Summary: A story of Ginger's childhood, which helps to explain why he was such a resourceful and independent young chap. No wonder Biggles and Algy took to him so quickly - Ginger was also a veteran, although not of a shooting war. By HRH.


Sink or Swim

The bank of the river crumbled as the boy crept forward. He felt himself start to slide, starting a small avalanche of stones and dirt. Grasping desperately with numbed hands, he tried to grab a handhold to break his momentum, but the sparse foliage that covered the slope was too insubstantial to stop his inexorable progress toward the black river that flowed swiftly between the steep banks.

With a splash the youngster landed in the stream, just out of reach of the bank. He felt panic as the cold, murky water closed over his head and flailed about wildly. The river had scoured a deep passage here and his feet failed to touch bottom. As he surfaced, he gulped in air. He would have to save himself somehow, he realised. There was no hope of help because there was no one around. He knew he would not be missed, at least for some time. His father would be in the public house and by the time he staggered home, he would waste no time wondering where his son was.

Bitterly the red-headed youngster berated himself for giving in to the desire to go after rabbits to supplement their meagre rations. The traps he had set were all empty so he had moved on to the edge of the clough where rabbits had burrowed into the soft earth. Now he had more to worry about than an empty belly and nothing for the pot.

The current was sweeping him along. He kicked out and thrashed his arms around as he had seen people doing when he had watched them swimming. If he couldn't get the hang of it, he told himself grimly, it was curtains for him. It was too late now to wish he had mastered the art when he had had time. By dint of much exertion and a frantic doggy paddle, he managed to keep himself afloat, aided by the air trapped in his shirt which was two sizes too big for him. Gradually, his movements became more co-ordinated and he realised that he was swimming and the immediate danger of sinking was over. His initial panic subsided and he started to think more rationally. The water was cold and his body was becoming numb. He desperately needed to reach the bank and dry himself off before he became too weak to manage it. He could see that the river curved ahead and the current was pushing him towards a spit of land that jutted out into the stream. If he could only direct his dog-paddling to steer himself towards the opposite bank, there was a chance he could drag himself out of the water and crawl up to safety.

With a greater sense of purpose than merely preventing himself from sinking, the lad struck out towards the land. He thought he would be swept past, but at the last minute an eddy swirled him close enough for his clutching hand to dig into the wet soil and miraculously grab a tree root which held. Hand over hand, the boy hauled himself towards the slight promontory. Gasping with exertion as well as fright, he pulled himself out of the water, reflecting on the narrowness of his escape.

He shivered. It was growing dark and a chill wind pierced his sodden clothing as though he were naked. He looked up and saw that the bank, although steep, had a few stunted trees and gnarled roots that offered handholds. He managed to get to his feet, but staggered, almost brought down again by the mud clinging to his ankles as his feet sank into the ooze. His progress was painfully slow and he felt his strength draining away as he dragged his feet out of the slime and placed them painfully one in front of the other. Just as he was beginning to feel that he would not make it, he found himself on firmer ground. Stopping for a moment to rest and gather his strength, he told himself firmly that he must never give up. Something would always turn up. Breathing heavily, he slowly pulled himself up the slope, clinging to the roots and boles of the slender trees. Once he felt a tree start to give way and was afraid that he would end up back in the inky black water swirling below him, but he managed to shift his grip to another handhold just in time. After a lung-bursting climb he hauled himself onto the plateau through which the river snaked its way. For a long time he lay still, his heart beating against his ribs, trying to still his breathing, listening to the sounds of animals in the darkness. He was one with them, a hunter who had nearly become prey. A fox yapped in the distance. Nearby, a rabbit squealed as it was taken by a predator. An owl hooted eerily as the night closed in. The lad stood up and shook himself. He had a long way to go to get back to the two up, two down slum in which he lived, but he had learned a valuable lesson.


End file.
